Chapter 6

Garrett awoke with a start, his body aching and drawing him back to the comfortable oblivion of sleep. The Hammerites had not been gentle, and the rack had been extensively used before finally he had been thrown back into his cell to await deportation. He felt as if he had been pummelled all over - no part of his body did not hurt. An informant of his, Dikket, had undergone such torture before recanting and being released from Cragscleft. Garrett had not believed him, thinking that such sadistic practices were beyond even the Hammerites. However, recent experience seemed to indicate that the treatment meted out to suspected Pagans went beyond even that which heretical Hammerites underwent. Dikket had been able to walk when he had been thrown back onto the streets - Garrett felt as if he could not move.

Willing himself to resist the pain, he struggled to sit up and look around at his cell. As the brief impressions he had glimpsed from the previous night had shown, it was small and cramped. Rusted bars were deeply inset in the mud-covered stonework of the floor. Water ran down the bars and also dripped of a roof stained black with soot. On the floor was a thin covering of straw, which was not thick enough to conceal the brown stains of dried blood there. The entire dungeon was similarly composed, with several cells that were the same as his. In the adjacent one was Giry, while the others were occupied by sullen drunks or labourers. The Hammerites made frequent anti-crime sweeps, arresting anyone they regarded as suspicious. The library's proximity to PrisonGate meant that there were more disreputable types in the area then might otherwise have been expected. They were all dressed in rough clothes, and their dull eyes stared out of dull and expressionless faces.

In on part of the dungeon, by the single set of stairs leading down there, there was a powered console, with switches that controlled the doors of the cells. Remote-locking doors were a recent invention of the Hammerites, and the design was beginning to appear in some of the houses in the City. While such doors could not be locked, the fact that the sole method of opening them was often either concealed or a great distance elsewhere made opening them require considerable effort. When meeting another informant at a local tavern, Garrett had overheard a conversation from a thief at another table, talking about how all of the switches had been in a guard room, a room brightly lit and patrolled by several guards. The thief had left, the impregnability of the doors forcing him to seek alternative, and easier, prey.

However, Garrett's eyes were immediately drawn to the figure standing by the console. The man was smaller than most Hammerites, and was dressed in a red surcoat that displayed the Hammerite symbol of the hammer in silver. From his build and dress Garrett guessed that he was a priest of the order, rather than the guards who wore the full body armour and carried the massive sledgehammers. From the man's presence in the dungeon, Garrett even guessed that the man was an Inquisitor, a priest trained in the art of torture. The thief had recalled glimpses through his tears of pain of a small man on the outskirts of the group of Hammerites torturing him who appeared to be directing them. Hammerite priests were arrogant, assured of their power and domination over their proselytes and the common people. However, this man's face was full of fear, his eyes continually shifting from the stairway to the sledgehammer lying on the console. The sledgehammer was too heavy for him to wield, and must have been placed there by another member of the Hammerite Order.

Garrett gradually became aware of shouts and screams that could be faintly heard. The dungeon was probably many feet below ground level, with tons of solid rock in between. That must mean that the faint noise he could hear would be deafening at its source. It almost sounded like a riot, a mass of people yelling and screaming at the object of their hatred. However, the notion that such a thing would take place inside the Hammerite library was ridiculous. He dismissed it, and instead considered that perhaps it was coming from another part of the street.

He was forced to reconsider this conclusion as the sounds of the riot increased in volume. The people appeared to be getting closer. The Inquisitor became more nervous, walking around the room and occasionally looking up the stairway. The noise steadily grew greater, until it became almost too loud to think. It seemed like a pure expression of rage and hatred from thousands of throats. Screams and yells echoed down the stairway towards the cramped space of the dungeon.

Suddenly, there was movement at the stairs. A Hammerite guard tumbled down them into the room. His head was bloody, his armour red with the stuff. His sledgehammer was missing, and even as Garrett watched an arrow shot out of the stairway to hit the man in the thorax. Hammerite armour could guard against most types of melee weapons, and the solid neck guards could resist even arrows. However, the chain-mail of the body armour could not stop the arrow, which seemed to have penetrated below the ribs. The man convulsed, his body jerking as blood and vomit flowed from his mouth. He gasped in pain, but soon fell silent as more blood flowed from his mouth and his wounds. The Inquisitor rushed to the stairway. Garrett saw his lips move as the man mumbled words, and his orbited each other in front of him. Light began to glow at the centre point, and then the light began to solidify. The Inquisitor leaned forward suddenly, and a small, glowing sledgehammer shot from his hands, up the stairs. Garrett was shocked. The Hammerites denounced magic, claiming it was magic of the Trickster. They hunted those who practised magic, and killed or imprisoned the Hand Mages whenever they found them.

Even as Garrett thought this, another body fell down the stairs. It landed on top of the Hammerite, and as it rolled of it Garrett saw that the chest of the man had been burnt away. The man was dressed in the worn clothes of a workmen. The Inquisitor was, meanwhile, preparing another hammer, but men emerged from the stairs before he could finish. One threw a rock at the Hammerite. It struck him on the head, spinning him round even as he released the deadly fireball. The man collapsed on the floor, while the hammer flew off and crashed into the console. It impacted catastrophically, penetrating the tough metal and then meeting the power connections and cables that the console operated. The machinery exploded, the power igniting in a spectacular explosion that completely destroyed the console. Suddenly the cell doors sprang open, but the crowd ignored this as they surged towards the fallen Hammerite. They surrounded him, and, even as Garrett forced himself out of the cell, swords, rocks and stolen sledgehammers raised and fell. Many of them were red with blood. The Inquisitor screamed, a futile outburst of pain that abruptly stopped.

The crowd of rioters had not stopped screaming, but the overall volume had decreased to the point where individual words could be made out. Most of what the rioters were saying was a stream of suprisingly inventive invective. Garrett's body ached, and the pain was almost unbearable. He stumbled drunkenly to the stairs, and then attempted to climb them. People were starting to return to the upper levels of the compound, and pushed him against the walls of the stairway as they ran back up. Parts of the walls and the stairs were dark with blood that was still wet, while occasionally he would see broken blades or splintered arrows.

Eventually he reached the top, and stared in amazement at the scene before him. The rioters had completely destroyed the library, trampling the books and manuscripts into the dirt, and burning them with the torches that had flickered on the walls. Powered lamps had been smashed, and splintered furniture lay on the floor. Book shelves had been overturned, spilling ancient parchments to the floor, where the heavy boots of the rioters scuffed and tore them. Also on the floor were bodies, of both Hammerites and rioters. The dead rioter bore horrific injuries, with heads that bore blood-stained dents, or limbs that were bent into anatomically impossible poses. Their cheap, worn clothing was soaked with blood, blood that covered the floor and was absorbed by the pages of the books. The bodies of the Hammerites were surrounded by greater numbers of dead bodies, evidence of the sheer volume of attackers. Their bodies had been attacked even after death, crushed by clubs and torn by the sword blades. All around Garrett people were drinking precious sacramental wine with wild abandonment, or tearing the fine tapestries from the walls. Others walked around with gold altar decorations, or relics inset with precious stone.

Garrett stared in amazement, but the pain of his battered body brought his thoughts back to the current situation. With no equipment or lodgings, he had no hope of even surviving, much less making a living. Battered and bruised as he was, living on the streets would make him a target for all of the thugs and cut-throats that ruled them when the sun went down. He had to find somewhere to hide until his strength returned. Unfortunately, no place sprang to mind. Garrett made few friends - the more there were, the greater the chance was of being betrayed. However, this also meant that most of his companions were business associates, such as informants, and no-one where would risk the wrath of the Hammerites and the City Guard by sheltering him. As he thought this through, the crowds behind him managed to destroy a marble pillar, smashing it with captured sledgehammers to get at precious stone. The pillar collapsed, as did the roof it supported. A huge slab of rock fell onto the packed crowd below. It did not hit the floor, but instead slammed onto two pews that briefly resisted the weight before being smashed themselves. The slab hit the floor, and Garrett could see the legs of people who had not moved in time sticking out from the slab, and the bodies of those whose legs were beneath the slab. For a moment, the slab had formed a rock shelter. However, while he saw it he did not observe it. His eyes glazed as he thought, but then he hit his forehead with his hand in dismay, and rushed to the stairway to the dungeons.

When he emerged at the top, he was soaking with sweat, and his body screamed with pain. He dropped Giry from his shoulder and collapsed onto the ground, panting and drawing in deep, painful breaths. Giry moaned as he fell to the floor, but made no move to get up. His treatment at the hands of the mob had not been as systematic as the torture of the Hammerites had been on Garrett, but he had been hurt just as much. Garrett and the other prisoners in the dungeons had been hardened felons, rough men much like those who had started the riot. Giry, on the other hand, was a meek clerk who was unfamiliar with the laws of the street, and the punishments for disobeying them. When Garrett had finally despatched the last of the group he had found Giry lying, curled up, on the floor, all visible skin dark with bruises. From the belt of one of the fallen group Garrett had found a healing potion, but Giry's wounds were only partially affected by it. He would require a long time before he was well. However, he was conscious enough to remember the location of the cavern.

Garrett looked around at the crowd, which was still devastating the wrecked library. He considered going after the book that Viktoria had asked Cutty for, but if the scene before him was any proof then by now it would have been torn, ripped and ground into the dirt. Garrett's only hope was now to find Giry's cavern, and then to make more elaborate plans from there. The noise of the crowd was still painful, a mass of voices that screamed and yelled profanities at the Hammerites and each other. Garrett had spoken with a quieter member of the crowd, and what he had learnt greatly disturbed him. The man said that he had encountered the riot several streets away, and that they had been yelling for the Hammerites to release the people they arrested on the streets and sent to Cragscleft. However, the thing that disturbed Garrett was that there were no ringleaders to the riot. Spontaneous riots were rare, and most petered out through lack of leadership long before they grew to such a size as to overpower the guards at the front gate of the library. Sledgehammers had mysteriously appeared to batter down the portcullis, and many of the rioters had been armed with swords or bows. The man had said that he had caught glimpses of mysterious shadows that moved around, but had dismissed them as tricks of the lights. Garrett was not quite so disbelieving. He possessed such a skill, and had learnt it from the Keepers. It was the Keeper way to manipulate people or crowds, leading them so as to accomplish the job and cover all traces of the Order's involvement. The thief was not so egotistical as to believe that the Keepers had instigated the riot to rescue him, but the timing and intent of the riot made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Then, he found something else to be scared about. At the door at the end of the room he had seen a flash of red and silver. The colours appeared again, and he could see panicked rioters fleeing towards him. Then a sledgehammer, dripping with blood, lifted above the heads of the crowd, and plunged down again. The Hammerite counter-attack had arrived.

The noise of the crowd changed from anger to despair. People in torn clothing, with treasures in their hands, rushed past him, and Garrett could hear the sounds of angry Hammerite voices. Suddenly he heard others, and turned to see more Hammers where most of the crowd was fleeing. They were trapped.

Suddenly, he remembered how he had entered the place. However, he would not have much time to escape, especially through the mass of panicked people. He stooped, and picked up Giry. Throwing the man's battered body over his shoulder, he forced his own aching body to move towards the direction of the privies. He had memorised the maps of the place, but the distances seemed much greater with the weight of another as well as himself to carry. From both sides he could hear screams of panic and fear from the crowd, and the hysterically angry shouts of Hammerites. One group attacked the rioters ferociously, carving a path that would intersect Garrett's. The leader of the group pointed at Garrett, and the thief saw the blood-soaked face of the Hammerite who had found him and knocked him out. The man pointed, and the group redoubled their efforts.

Then, an arrow sped out and hit the man in the chest. He tumbled backwards, his face changing from anger to surprise. His body slid out of view behind the heads of the crowd. The group he had been leading stopped in surprise, and the rioters around them fell upon them, fists and stones beating aside the heavy sledgehammers. Garrett turned round, and fancied he saw a shadows melt into the stonework where the arrow seemed to have come from. The hairs on the back of his neck standing, he managed to make his way to the privies, now dragging Giry behind him. The clerk moaned in pain as the rough flagstones scraped his back, but the alternative was to leave him here. Garrett needed Giry to tell him where to find the man with the key to the sewer cavern. If Giry was co-operative, Garrett might even leave him alone after this.

Finally he reached the privies, and recoiled in disgust from the smell. A several Hammerites had been present when the riot had reached the library, and the results of the massacres were not pleasant. Steeling himself, Garrett stepped in, and over to the holes that led down to the sewers below the place. He grabbed the collar of Giry's torn shirt, and lifted him onto the seat. He forced the mans legs through the hole, and then released him. Giry fell on the floor with a dull thump, but was still moaning and seemed undamaged. With a backward glance, Garrett too put his feet in the hole, and then slid through it.

He managed to avoid landing on Giry, but his ankles and knees screamed in pain as he impacted on the floor. He managed to maintain the presence of mind to remain upright, and not to land in the sewage on the floor. Although periodically flushed by running water, the Hammerites appeared not to have done this before the crowd fell upon them. Giry was soaked in sewage. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, and glad that he would have to get rid of the clothes anyway to avoid being recognised, Garrett picked up Giry and began to make his slow and painful way towards the main sewer, and the exit there to the street.

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